- heroin[e] -.

There's something about the way that light hits an iced surface.
What seems a mundane, solid colored ice cube, for example, changes drastically with the sudden presence of light. Colors start to form. Or not form, but appear really. Colors that you wouldn't even imagine were there; that you had no idea were possible of existing in this noun because it looks so damn regular. So plain and simple. And to think that such beauty can come from this delicate thing, that it can all be lost if it's exposed too long out in temperature that's not its own, it really makes one wonder how everything and everyone that surrounds us are that insignificant and fragile.
We are the ice cube.
And the light, well; The light is experiences we are faced with, people we meet, obstacles and goals we have to overcome to become who we want to be. Who we or society has decided that we should be. The colors would end up being who we end up being.
Some may think that this is too much of a thought for a young mind but, if we don't sit down and REALLY put things in perception, think that out of our own small planet, out in the Universe, we are pretty much just an annoying speck of dust in the whole cosmos; we get out of control thinking we're some sort of superior being, waging war on others and demanding things that we, in turn, would probably never grant others when the reason to fret and such violent or negatively extreme emotions lose their meaning in these existencial thoughts.
These actions are ridiculous.
And actually taking some time off from our lives to think about these things can be a hard realization.
Hard, like ice cubes.
Cold, like ice cubes.
Overwhelming, like the color that ice cubes achieve to emit with light.
But, nevertheless, simple. And complex.
Like an ice cube.